


Scared

by Deathtouch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Supernatural - Freeform, What am I doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/pseuds/Deathtouch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Listen. I just watched the new episode of Supernatural S8 and I don't know anything about Benny other than I ship him and Dean. I'm so sorry everyone. i'm so sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scared

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta'd. all mistakes are my own. what am I doing. sorry about the tense changes. i am a maniac right now.

If there was ever a place in the whole of the universe that sex would be considered inappropriate… purgatory might be it.

What with all the death, and the destruction, and the blood, and the killing, and the fear. So much fear. There isn’t a corner you can turn where something isn’t lurking. Danger is imminent and omnipresent. Purgatory is less like a place and more like a feeling. The feeling of constantly being on edge and afraid.

And with Benny, Dean is even more scared.

What is he doing, and why? This person… this _creature_. His southern drawl and his teeth and the scruff on his face. Something about him is awful, and terrifying, and Dean knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t stop himself. Everywhere is fear and terror, but better the evil you do know than the evil you don’t, right? Dean has learned that the hard way over years of hunting, and this is what it’s all amounted to. He could travel purgatory alone, pushing his limits and his luck, or he could go with Benny. It’s risky, but everything here is a risk.

\---

Benny doesn’t kiss. They mashed lips together once, angry and desperate, bodies of dead demons strewn in the dirt and leaves beside them. Dean’s own face was splattered with blood, drops of metallic red on his lips. He tasted it when they kissed. Benny isn’t gentle, and Dean doesn’t want him to be. They clash teeth and tongue and their hands grab rough for the fabric of shirts and the meat of muscle underneath. Dean finds himself pressed close to a tree and he doesn’t like being cornered. He has to shove Benny off of him, all fury and fists. They brawl. They knock jaws with knuckles. A bruise blossoms over Dean’s chin. It’s not the worst kiss he’s ever had.

They decide not to kiss after that. They don’t have to say anything to one another; they just know it’s been decided. Dean doesn’t ever lean in again, and Benny doesn’t ever try to either. Sometimes Dean thinks about what it would be like somewhere else. Somewhere other than here. He imagines Benny tasting like whiskey instead of blood, or maybe bourbon. Cherry bourbon. He imagines Benny’s good with his tongue. He imagines Benny likes to laugh when he kisses. He imagines Benny’s grinning mouth against his own, laughing against his lips.

\---

Benny sucks Dean’s cock once. It’s not like they found time to do it, it just sort of happens out of nowhere after a fierce fight with an unnamed demon. It’s the blood rush, the adrenaline. That hasn’t happened to Dean since he was a teenager. Actually it hadn’t really happened then either.

Benny had been amused.

Amused, and all too eager to assist.

Dean had to remind him not to bite. It was tetchy at first, Benny was nearly too tall on his knees so he sat down cross-legged on the cold dirt ground instead. Dean had never seen someone sitting like that look so dignified and refined. Benny wasn’t sitting on the ground, he owned it, and he looked up at Dean with big hungry eyes.

Dean kept a weapon in hand and un-did his jeans, pushing them past his waist. His boxers slid down too and his cock sprang free. Dean imagined Benny was good with his tongue when he kissed, but he never could have imagined that he was good with his tongue when he sucked dick. Not _this_ good.

Most blowjobs Dean had ever received where hands included. Benny didn’t need to use his hands. He opened those jaws of his and Dean’s cock just slid right in. It was warm, _hot_ even, and wet, and Benny’s tongue was soft and slick on the underside of his dick. In he slipped, deeper and deeper, the warmth all encompassing. Benny’s lips closed around the base of his cock and it was all Dean could do not to moan, completely engulfed. He couldn’t close his eyes, he couldn’t let anything or anyone get the jump on them, but if he could he would lay his head back and squeeze his eyes shut and _moan_.

Benny took him all the way to the back of his throat without gagging. He _swallowed_ , and Dean could swear he was smiling when he did, the rich, hot, wet back of Benny’s throat closing in around him. It was too much. There was no slow build, no knot of pleasure, no warmth rumbling through him. His orgasm came furious, and from nowhere. Come oozed down the back of Benny’s throat, and Benny took it with polished refinement found only in southern gentleman.

Fear replaced the pleasure that had just been coursing through him, and Dean hurried to tidy himself up. Benny smiled, and wiped his mouth, and Dean helped him to his feet when he was all tucked away.

“Mm. Thanks.” Dean had grumbled, unthankfully.

“You’ll have to get me back for that there, won’t you?” Benny drawled politely, and it wasn’t a negotiation.

\---

They are rough with one another often. Dean doesn’t like something Benny says, or his tone, or the way he smirks all suspicious and coy and all of a sudden they’re trading blows. Benny gets too friendly sometimes, too touchy, and suddenly the arm slung around Dean’s neck and the slap on his back aren’t playful, they’re threats, and they’re at each other’s throats. Sometimes the fights lead to something else. Dean doesn’t know how wrestling each other to the ground to suddenly becomes dry humping in the leaves, but it happens often.

Benny pins his shoulders often too. He breaths heavy, his chest rising and falling with pure want and energy and desire. The way he looks at Dean, just looks at him. He settles on Dean’s waist like he belongs there, like he’s king of the mountain. He grinds into him, denim on denim. Again and again they rut. Moments ago Dean was fighting to get away but now he’s arching into the touch, eyebrows furrowed with intensity. Benny draws shaky breaths when he really wants it, but Dean is always has to put a stop to it.

They can’t fuck out here, like this. They can’t. It’s impractical. Irrational. It doesn’t matter how good he feels or how seductive Benny looks. This isn’t a place for sex. There is only room for death and violence here in purgatory.  

Benny makes him say ‘uncle’ before he gets up. Every time. In that accent even a dumb little phrase like ‘ _Say Uncle, homme_.’ Is sexy, and sultry, and Dean can’t help but _want_ to do it.

\---

There is no lube in purgatory, only spit.

Benny fucks him rough, and punishing. He pins Dean to the ground, face first to the dirt, and he fucks him. Dean’s got one arm twisted behind his back, held in place by Benny’s firm grip. The other arm is at his side. His fingers are rigid, digging into the earth, soil under his fingernails. He grits his teeth and his features are written over with an expression of pain, and exasperation.

It doesn’t feel good, and he doesn’t want it too. The rawness, the intensity, the angry passion mixes with the heat of fear and ferocity already inside of him. Benny pounds into him, frantic and unyielding. He stills when he comes, burrowing in balls deep, pressed all the way to the hilt. Dean is filled entirely. His shoulder aches. His ass aches. There’s dirt in his mouth. He’s scared, he is so scared. There are creatures in the trees and they’re looking at the two of them, rutting into the ground.

Dean closes his eyes and the fear washes over him and he comes too.


End file.
